Growing up, I knew I was adopted. My parents never tried to hide it from me.
They had waited years for a kid, and when they met me, they fell in love right away.
I lived a good life. A warm home.
However, in the weeks running up to my 18th birthday, odd things began to happen.
It began with emails.
The first one came from an address I didn’t recognize.
Happy early birthday, Emma. I’ve been thinking about you. I’d love to talk.
No name. No context. So I ignored it.
Then came the Facebook friend request from a profile without a photo. Her name was Sarah W. The request lingered in my inbox, unanswered.
Then, on the morning of my birthday, a knock arrived.
When I opened the door, I knew everything was going to change.
A woman stood on the porch. Her golden hair hung in tangled curls, and heavy circles framed her sunken eyes. Her gaze focused on me, and she took a sharp breath as if she had been holding it for years.
“I’m your mother.”
“Your real mother,” she added, stepping closer.
“I know this is a sh0ck,” she said, her voice raw and uneven. “But please, Emma. Please listen to me.”
I should’ve closed the door then. I should have phoned my parents to deal with this individual. But I did not. I could not move.
“Your adoptive parents… they lied to you,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her palm.
“They tricked me, Emma. And then they stole you from me!” she said, grabbing my hands, her grip trembling.
Tears welled in her eyes as she removed a folder from her backpack and shoved a stack of documents into my hands.
Birth records. My exact birth records.
There was a signature beneath a massive block of text.
Her name.
“I never wanted to give you up, Emmie,” she whispered. “That’s what I used to call you when you were in my belly. I was young and scared, but they convinced me I wasn’t good enough. That you’d be better off without me. They manipulated me, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“Just give me a chance, love. Come with me. Let me show you the life you were meant to have.”
I should’ve said no. I should have slammed the door on her face.
Right?
But I did not.
I told Sarah I’d meet her at the diner.
Later, I stood in the living room, my parents sitting across from me, their looks open and expectant.
They were still laughing, cheerful, and completely unaware of the bomb I was about to drop.
“A woman came to the house.”
“She… she said she’s my biological mother.”
“She told me that…” My voice wavered. I steadied myself. “She told me that you lied. That you tricked her into giving me up.”
My mother took a weak breath, and something about it, the raw pain in the sound, made my stomach twist.
“Emma,” she said. “That is absolutely not true.”
“I told her I’d stay with her for a week.”
“Emma, please, my girl,” Mom said. “Just listen to us. Don’t go.”
Dad signed, his voice calm yet forceful. “Go, Emma. Just… she left you once. Just think about that before you walk out that door.”
Sarah’s residence was not a house.
It was a mansion. A bloodied mansion. Who would’ve thought?
I chose to stay for a week, as I had told my parents. Just to see.
The following day, a woman stopped me outside the mansion.
“I’m Evelyn,” she exhaled. “I live next door.”
“She didn’t tell you, did she? Sarah?”
“That she never fought for you. That no one tricked her into giving you up. She did it because she wanted to.”
“Emma, she partied. She partied hard. She spent every penny she had. And when she got pregnant, she saw you as an inconvenience. Suddenly, her life was… too different.”
“She never once looked for you,” Evelyn continued. “Not once. Not until now.”
“Your grandfather d.i.e.d last month,” she looked me in the eye. “And he left everything to you. You’re eighteen now, honey. It’s all officially yours.”
It was not about love. It never was about love.
It was about money.
When I returned home, my parents were waiting for me.
I did not say anything. I just raced into my mother’s arms.
“Welcome back, baby girl,” my dad replied.
I already had everything I needed.
A real family.
